One woman's perspective of (twin) parenting (and other thoughts about things)
I wanted to write this post a week ago.
If I had written this post a week ago, it would have been a joyful romp through the amazing developmental leaps the Smols have made in the last few weeks, culminating in new words left, right and centre, and a definite uptick in the amount of signing to go with those words (we are attempting to introduce BSL as a second language). Basically it would have been an ode to the now-not-uncommon feeling of “OMG we’ve made it to the toddler stage and everything is going to be OKAY”.
For example, the Smols have started nursery. They are, largely, smashing it. Smol J finger painted their way through a particularly impressionist interpretation of the Kenyan flag on day two and, honestly, my heart has not quite recovered yet. Smol T, after all the nap-related drama of late is completely nailing a long lunchtime nap (well, an hour and a half, which I think is great in nursery terms) and I couldn’t be more proud.
Yes, indeed, it was all going swimmingly. And then, this week happened.
This week, I went back to work. I’ve got a two month contract back doing some singing, which is very unpredictable from a scheduling point of view (one of the many reasons I left at the end of my maternity leave), so we’ve had to arrange full time childcare of one sort or another. We have a rota of grandparents visiting (cashing in those COVID-era debts/finally giving them the opportunity to spend time with their grandchildren) and have nursery on Mondays and Fridays.
Side point: I did not realise that the reason the nursery (only) had availability on Mondays and Fridays is because that’s when bank holidays are. Which you still pay for (for totally valid and important reasons, but still…). Did not think that one through.
Anyway, the week started kind of OK, in that they went to nursery, I went to work, Daddy did pick up and they were pleased to see me when I got home. Tuesday was the first day being looked after by grandparents. They did OK, I did worse - I am working through a whole load of things with my therapist about the unreasonable standards I hold everybody to (including myself), which means that I’m really not great at delegating or trusting other people to Do Just Fine. Also, problematic generational gender role stuff. Anyway, the Smols did OK.
Then, gradually, as the week went on, they started reacting to the fact that I wasn’t around as much and, by the way, Mummy, WHY HAS EVERYTHING CHANGED?
Wednesday morning was a particular low point, as Smol T had a 20-minute tantrum (I thought we had another 6 months until this stage?) because I wanted to brush their teeth. I am firmly of the mind that all emotions are important and tantrums are to be accepted with whatever loving kindness you can summon up at the time, rather than fixed, truncated or even ignored (if that’s possible). But WOW, that was a hard 20 minutes.
Friday morning wasn’t much better. Smol T started having tantrums during the post-breakfast nappy changes (and around teeth brushing again) and was being especially Mummy-clingy, which is not something I cope well with (another one for the therapist, there). At some point, I realised that there was no way I should do the nursery run. I took myself off to another room whilst Daddy got them ready and he and his Dad then took them to nursery. Apparently the handover was the best yet, so I feel justified in what my gut told me to do, but again, WOW it was hard.
My mother-in-law kind of got it, although she went down the path that most people go down - as I go back to work and the Smols go to nursery, people are very keen to tell me (a particular bugbear of mine) that I will miss them terribly and I will worry but I must trust that they will be ok, and that it’s really important for us all to have this time et c. Let me put it this way: I do not think these people have been the primary carer for twins for 17 months straight. I will write about this elsewhere, but this is absolutely my handover time - the point at which I am Very Happy Indeed for Other People to look after my children. I miss them, in the same way I miss my husband when I’m at work, i.e. I look forward to seeing them again at the end of the day, but there are vast swathes of time when I largely forget they exist, because I’m Doing Other Things. I do not worry about them, because they always come home happy, fed and (kind of) clean, and the people looking after them are actual superheroes.
No, it was not that I was weeping at saying goodbye to my precious little darlings. What it actually felt like was more akin to lying on some kind of emotional grenade. Basically, in order for their handover at nursery to be stress-free, I knew I needed to not be there. I knew I needed to absorb all the emotions I was feeling as a result of the morning’s tantrums, and not let them spill out of me. The buck, essentially, had to stop with me. I could have easily done drop off with them because I felt the tug to do that given their emotional state, but that would have only served to make myself feel better, which is Not Cool. I could have easily gotten angry at them for screaming at me all morning (and I have done that many times, don’t you worry), but, again, that would have just made me feel better in the short term and probably caused another few tantrums from the Smols. I could have made a big fuss about them going and cried and told them that Mummy would be here when they got back and that it would all be fine, but we don’t do that with the dog because it makes separation anxiety worse, and we have taken the same approach with the Smols. So, armed with just enough energy to actually decide such things, I didn’t do any of those things and just let the grenade explode underneath me. The outpouring of emotion that happened after they’d left was essentially the shockwave of that. I took some time, I let it dissipate, and everybody (including me) was better for it.
Parenting is hard.
However, I do want to finish on a high, because as I said at the start, their development is through the roof at the moment and it’s amazing. They have learned ‘please’ (despite not really trying to teach them it) and the look on their little faces when they ask for ‘more milk please’ with sign language and then they get…wait for it…MORE MILK is just the most wonderful thing. To see them experience joy at being understood properly is the stuff of dreams and I am so here for it.
Parenting is hard, but it is occasionally really very wonderful.
xx